Morally Immorall
by Temperance Cain
Summary: After losing her mother, 16 year old Clary Fray has been feeling like something is missing from her life. That something is Jace Wayland. As Clary finds out who she truly is, she learns just how much love can give you, and how much it can take.
1. Chapter 1

It was a bright Friday afternoon. Light streamed in through the large windows of Java Jones, casting bright pools of illumination over Clary Fray's sketchbook. An array of pencils and art supplies were strewn across her table, and her coffee (black with lots of sugar ), was balanced precariously on a chipped blue saucer. Clary leaned back in the familiar leather of the booth, twirling a pencil in her fiery red hair was pulled back from her face, a smudge of charcoal under her left eye and on her bare arms. She was wearing an indigo-coloured T - Shirt (as she would say ), green sneakers and an old black jacket that used to be Simon's - her best friend. Her mother's necklace , a 16th birthday gift, hung from her neck .

Clary twirled the gold heart absent-mindedly. She set the pencil down, and stared at her drawing . It was a good drawing, she had to admit, but she could never get the face right. Ever since her mother had been killed six months ago, Clary had been dreaming about this mysterious stranger . He had hair that shone like gold, captivating amber eyes and a crooked smile. She dreamed about him every night , feeling that it was just a jolt of inspiration, she would try to draw him, but something was always missing. Just like how she felt something was missing since she lost her mother. Luke had always been like a father to her. He was always there for her , but now , when she looked into his eyes , she saw a distance that scared her. Sometimes he couldn't even look at her, like it physically pained him to look at her green eyes, because all he saw was Jocelyn. She had never felt so alone .

Clary doodled on her page, as she looked out the window, she couldn't help the laugh that ecaped her mouth. Simon was being harassed by a group of pigeons, a bag of food from the Golden Carriage Bakery in one hand. hand. Finally released from the feathery fight, he walked to Java Jones. He did a one - handed wave and sat next to her, handing her the food as he pushed up his glasses. The smell of dumplings filled her nose, breaking her out of her miserable reverie. Clary took in Simon : dark brown hair swept back casually, coffee - brown eyes behind his large glasses. He had a cream coloured jacket on, pushed up to the elbows over a dark red T - Shirt that had a hole in the hem. Dark jeans over old black sneakers. Simon. The one constant in her life. Always there for her, and always would be.

They talked for hours, about all kinds of things: plans for the weekend, Simon's new song, the movie marathon they had planned, and the awfully boring fundraiser Clary had to go to. Clary laughed hysterically when Simon balanced a pencil on his top lip and pretended to be Yoda. Clary grabbed her stuff and gave Simon a hug before leaving Java Jones. As she crossed the street, something made her look up at the building opposite. She could have sworn she saw gold hair and a black jacket ." My hero ", she said.

Author's Note : I do not own any of these characters, that right belongs to Cassandra Clare. I do not own Yoda. Only Yoda owns Yoda. I hoped you enjoyed chapter 1, there is more to come ! Happy weekend !

Reviewed Author's Note: Its hot here in the country of the Infernal Devices, way too hot for any creative or productive thinking, but I still wanted to post something. So I settled upon the compromise of going through all 14 chapters of this story and tweaking it. If you were put off by my terrible spelling mistakes or my use of commas, then this is your lucky day ! I'm not going to change anything too drastically, and I know that it doesn't have to be perfect, but I want people to really enjoy this, and I want to be even more proud of what not just what I have accomplished, but what you have as well. That was a very long sentence. See you later !

Love, Tempe


	2. Chapter 2

Jace Wayland sat on the roof of a building opposite Java Jones, his long legs dangling over the edge. Today was his day off, no demon hunting for him. He watched the people go by, but he couldn't stop staring at this one girl. She looked about 16 , with fiery red hair and bright green eyes, the colour of the grass in Idris. She had an adorable smudge of charcoal under her left eye , and her arms were covered in it, reminding him of his own rune - etched arms. He watched her draw, fascinated by the move of her pencil, the colours she used. He laughed when she got ink on her hand from were she had been leaning. He stopped when he saw what it was : the Mark of the Nephilim.

He watched her like a cat when some dark haired nerd with glass came in and sat with her. He turned red with jealousy when he saw her laughing at the boy when he had a pencil above his top lip and was making perculiar nodding gestures. He would never understand mundanes. He envied their ignorance. How they tell themselves when they hear a noise in the night that it's just the wind, instead of a demon that is anything but natural. Jace had been raised to believe that there are really monsters under your bed, that there is no wind blowing, there is no old house creaking. Everything is a nightmare , and that nightmare is everything. But looking at this girl, he felt ... safe, like nothing could harm him . He had never felt safe before, only felt the pain of loneliness.

When he looked into her green eyes, he felt like he could lose himself in their depths, or find himself. Since the age of ten, Jace Wayland had never felt truely safe. Since his fater was murdured, right in front of him, he didn't know how to feel whole again, to feel normal. He felt like some part of him had died that day, and, truth be told, it had. Jace had lost the only family he had ever known, and he never wanted to feel that kind of pain again. He loved the Lightwoods with all he had, but there was still a piece missing, a piece of the puzzle that made up who he was, who he would be. Sometimes he thought he would never feel or be complete.

Then Jace looked over and heard her name. Clary. Like the sage, he thought to himself. Then she looked up at him. He froze, ducking behind the wall. He could have sworn he heard her say " My hero ", but that was probably his wild, arrogant and fairly narcissistic imagination. He felt a bizarre impulse to follow her, to hear her voice, see her smile at him like she did at that boy. He stopped himself. " What am I doing ? ", he muttered under his breath. Jace jumped down from the roof, landing with a soft thud with panther-like grace. He followed her.

He sat in the shade of a tree, looking up at her window. He laughed as she tried to wipe the smudge from beneath her eye, but failed heroically. He saw her pick up a picture from her nightstand, which, to no surprise to him, was littered with scrunched pieces of paper and a light dusting of pencil sharpenings. She twisted her necklace, tears staining the glass. He saw her say a single word, but it still broke him. " Mom " . But he was a Shadowhunter, forbidden from ever telling this girl that it was okay, that things would get better. But in Jace Wayland's case, things rarely got better. He couldn't get attached, not to her, not to anybody. But then again, Jace Wayland never listened to advice, evin when given by himself. He also couldn't walk away from somebody as broken as he was, or so he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Jace was woken up by the sound of knocking. He had stayed under that tree all night, and his head was full of sleep. He grunted a pillow - muffled "Come in," and turned onto his back. It was Alec, his hair a spray of black, his blue eyes ringed from sleep. He leaned in the doorway. " Mom wants to see us about tonight's assignment," Alec said with a yawn. Jace groaned. " Does she really have to wake us up now ? Some people need their beauty sleep, as in, me," he replied. Alec shook his head. " You don't need it you're already beautiful," he said, turning red like a poppy. Jace couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, man, but I only know you said that to make me move faster. Tell Mom I'll be there in five, okay ? "Jace said. Alec nodded and left. Sometimes Alec could be so weird. Throwing on a grey T - Shirt and jeans, Jace tried to push all thoughts of Clary from his head, but failed miserably.

When Jace padded into the library, he noticed that Isabelle still had her pajamas on, her hair was pulled back, but it was still messy. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was on the great, oak desk : a picture of a woman with dark red hair, and eyes just like Clary's. He took a deep breath and faced the only mother he had ever had. "As you know, there have been whispers that Valentine is resurfacing and is going after the Mortal Instruments. His wife, Jocelyn Fairchild, under the alias Jocelyn Fray, was meant to be in possession of the Mortal Cup. Unfortunately, she passed away recently. Her daughter, however, is very much alive Sixteen year old Clarissa Fray is hosting a fundraiser this evening, selling some of her work and her mother's for charity. Your task is to go to this fundraiser and see what she knows. That is all." With a nod of her head Maryse Lightwood left the library .

" This is going to be so fun! And, it gives me a chance to to try out this new dress i have been dying to wear!" Izzy said with a grin. Sometimes the similarity between Maryse and Isabelle was eerie, it was times like this that made Jace question if they were related at all. Alec sighed, "Not everything is about dresses, Izzy ". Isabelle turned her head. " You're right, it's about dresses, shoes, skirts, boots, jewelry and makeup." With that said she spun on her pink fluffy slippers and left. "Dear God," Alec muttered to himself, but Jace was already out the door.

Clary stood in front of her floor length mirror, trying on what felt like the 50th dress in a row, even though she didn't even own that many. She had always been a T - Shirt and jeans kind of girl, wearing dresses made her feel like she was trying to be someone else, someone she wasn't. Throwing the green dress over the mirror, Clary sat at the end of her bed, her head in her hands. Jocelyn had always been beautiful, in anything. Always had a kindness to her that made her instantly trushtworthy. Even in paint - splattered overalls, Jocelyn had always looked gorgeous and regal, like she didn't need to be held up despite her delicate frame. The buzzing of her phone broke Clary out of another miserable reverie. Simon.

"Hello, you have reached Clary Fray, call back when there isn't a crisis," shesaid, toying with the lace on her bed. "Hey, Fray, it's me, I was just wondering, do you still want me to go with you to this snooze - fest 2007 ? " Simon asked with a hint of mockery. " Simon, you are my only friend, and, before you say anything, your cat Yossarian doesn't count. Of course I want you to come. You can send off would - be suitors as they swoon at me." Simon froze on the other end of the phone. "Joking," Clary said. Simon started breathing again.

"Anyway, as I said before you got all weird, well, more weird than you are now, I'm having a fashion crisis," Clary said, still toying with the lace on her bed. " Green , blue or black. Yellow makes you look like a fire engine and pink does not go. Can't stress that enough," Simon said with a represeed laugh. " Thanks, you are such a great help," Clary replied, her voice dripping sarcasm. Simon didn't seem to notice. "You're welcome any time, Fray. I gotta go put on my tux. Those stupid tie things take for absolute ever, and I don't want Rebecca to do it for me. She will take away my manliness, well, what's left of it," said Simon with an awkward laugh. Clary paused. " Simon Lewis, since when do you have a tux; or anything smarter than an 8 ball T - Shirt ?" Clary asked, disbelief colouring her voice. She could hear him rustling on the other end of the phone. " Since me and the band did a gig for a wedding and we all wore tuxes. See you later, Clary." Clary said goodbye, trying to clear away the mental image of Simon's band at a wedding. Then she heard a knock at the door.

Author's Note : ( Dramatic cliffhanger music playing in the background). Who could it be ? I'll give you a hint, it's Alec in a tutu.


	4. Chapter 4

Trying not to trip over a sea of fabric Clary when to the door. When she opened it she saw a box, with a not that read :

 _Dear Clary ,_

 _I know that things have been difficult lately and I know I'm not the easiest guy to be around right now but I wanted you to have this. Your mother would be so proud of you .I am as well. See you at the party . All my love, Luke . PS: I stole all your cardigans so don't look for them ._

Wondering why her cardigans were being held hostage by a bookstore owner, and a guy, Clary untied the ribbon on the gasped when she took off the lid ; folded in swaiths of tissue paper was a twilight blue dress with matching shoes. Tentively, Clary took out the dress and held it to the light . The bodice with beads and lace flowers that cascaded down to the waist. An elegant split was framed with ruffles, perfect for dancing and twirling. If she could do either, (which she couldn't ).With a smile Clary took the box into her room .

After spending five minutes trying to find a pair of scissors to take the tags off with, Clary stood again in front of her floor length mirror. The dress fit perfectly, the heels giving her a needed boost in height. She gave a little twirl and laughed at her inner five year old .

20 minutes later , with her hair brushed and off her face, her urge for a cardigan subsiding, and a little makeup on, Clary was feeling excited when Simon knocked on the door. Clary laughed at Simon in a tux ; his manly shoes so foreign to him that he kept looking down at his feet and confusion flooding his face . " You look gorgeous, like Princess Leia ", he said. She smiled and ruffled his hair . " You don't look so bad yourself " , replied Clary with a smile . " Let's go before these shoes kill me and my reputation ". She couldn't help but laugh .

" Alexander Lightwood, hold still, if you stop fidgeting, I might actually be able to get this on for you", Isabelle said, gripping her brother's collar, his bow tie between her teeth . " How did you get so good at these ? ", Alec asked, taking a deep breath as his sister almost poked him in the eye with her hair pins . " What can I say ? I've had lots of practice. But more with taking them off ", Isabelle said with a mischievous grin. Alec gulped. " So, are you excited about the party tonight ?", Isabelle asked, excitement colouring her voice, but it had a perculiar undertone, laced with what sounded like concern . " Sure .Yep. Definitely excited ", replied Alec, looking down at his shoes . Isabelle finished with Alec's bow tie and expertly manuvered him onto the end of the bed. " Sit. Talk " , Isabelle said, as if she was talking to a dog. Alec cleared his throat. " Have you, ever, cared about someone, but, um, they haven't liked you back or you're not sure if they like you back and then there is just this awkwardness between you and you don't know what to say or do or feel about anything". Alec took a breath and put his head in his hands. Isabelle rubbed his back soothingly. Alec was the big brother of the family, the protector, but sometimes he didn't protect himself, which was why Isabelle was there, and always would be. The love you have for family never leaves you, never waivers, it only gets stronger, and Alec was the strongest person Izzy knew . Isabelle lifted his hair out of your eyes. She said two words, but they held so much meaning . " Tell him " .

Jace sat on his bed, twirling a seraph blade between his fingers. Since this morning, he hadn't been able to get the picture of Clary out of his head; she was a constant in his mind. Jace had never felt anxious or nervous . He always exumed this air of confidence around others, even when he had his doubts . But he, Jace Wayland, was nervous about seeing the girl he had been dreaming about . The girl who's name he could never erase from his head, no matter how much he scrubbed at it . Laughing under his breath, Jace pulled on his jacket and thrust the seraph blade through his belt . Tonight was going to be interesting .

Author's Note: I am going through my chapters and fixing them up a little instead of posting another chapter . I hope you enjoy! ( Trust me, it gets better).


	5. Chapter 5

Jocelyn Fray's old art gallery was strung with fairy lights . Gilded frames hell vibrant landscapes, almost like you could reach in and touch the leaves on the trees , feel the grass under your toes and the breeze ruffling your hair . A few of Clary's paintings sat in one corner , feeling a little forlorn . Clary herself was leaning in one corner , a glass of "apple juice " in her hand . Simon was standing next to her , brushing off imaginary lint from his lapel when someone looked at him . Clary held the glass up to the cheap overhead light , mesmerized by the way the bubbles floated , the gleam of the freshly - polished glass . Luke was by a group of people , looking just as uncomfortable , probably because he wasn't wearing a plaid or flannel shirt . Clary couldn't take any more . She dived into the crowd , her eye on a particular painting .

It had been one of Clary's first . She didn't enjoy painting as much as her mother did . Had . Drawing had always been her passion . When she painted , she felt too constricted to the canvas , like her creativity was being held hostage in a jar . Drawing was raw and real and passionate . But this painting held a significance to Clary , one she couldn't describe in words . It was of a cold winter night , a heavy coating of snow littering the streets , blowing in tornadoes of white dust .The city lights cast yellow pools of light on the cracked pavement . Two people were huddled together , bundled in thick wool coats . A mother and her daughter . Red hair like rubies , green eyes like jewels staring at a face full of freckles and a head of carrot hair . " She looks like you " . Clary turned around . Standing in front of her , in a light blue suit jacket , jeans , and a white T - Shirt , was her mysterious stranger . " You " , she said .

Jace Wayland had never liked art . In fact , it was one of the only things he wasn't astonishingly great at . He was moderately great . He knew how to draw the runes and Marks of Shadowhunters , but he could never see the beauty and tragedy in everyday life like artists could . But , he had to admit , the Fray's were incredible . When he walked into the gallery , he was hit by the smell of paint and oil and wax . Landscapes of rolling green hills and sunsets and cities adorned each wall . Every painting told a story , made you feel something , and that most of all is why Jace didn't like art . The exposure of ones emotions for others to see . But the again , when it came to Clary Fray his whole world seemed to change . Each stroke of her brush told him something , how she was feeling , what she was thinking at the time . He had never felt that close to anyone before , not even with Alex or his own father ; and he never would . But his world truely came crashing down when he saw her . A glass of champagne in her hand , playing with the stem . Her bright hair swept back off her face , showing her adorable freckles and bright green eyes that still reminded him of the grass in Idris . Vibrant and full of life in their intensity . Her dark blue dress brought out the copper tones in her hair . She was so beautiful it hurt . Taking a leap of faith , he strode through the crowd . He couldn't help but smile when a piece of stray hair fell into her face , she tried blowing it , but it stuck . In the end she violently tucked it behind her ear . The painting she was looking at was beautiful , one of her's he could tell . She really did look like Jocelyn . " She looks like you " , Jace said . She turned to him and he could hear the disbelief colouring her voice . " You ", she said .

" Me " , the boy replied . He was just like how she had pictured him , sharp planes and angles , a golden Halo of hair and bright amber eyes . "You're real , I thought I just made you up " , Clary's mind was reeling . How could he be standing in front of her , with a smug look on his face ? . " I am real . I have been for as long as I can remember , but , you never know . I'm Jace . Jace Wayland . Pleased to make your aqacquaintan , Miss Fray . I have to admit , your artwork is incredible . You have a real talent , as did your mother , I'm sorry you lost her". That brought Clary back to reality . " Thank you , but I don't need your pity . The pity parade is over by the refreshment table . I spat in it , by the way " , she replied , her bitterness and resentment evident in her tone . But Jace didn't even seem to notice . He smiled at her and said " Why would you do that ? Anyway , there is something I want to talk to you about , something that is really important , is there somewhere we can go so we can talk ? In private ? ". There was a sense of urgency and desperation in Jace's voice that made the blood in Clary's veins go cold . " I just met you . You be all nice and sensitive and you want to drag me off to the broom closet with the mops ? No way , Goodbye". Clary stalked off but Jace crossed the space between them in two , confident strides . He gripped her right arm , freezing her where she stood . " You need to listen to me . Your life is in danger . Let me help you Clary , please . Haven't you been through enough . She yanked her arm from his grasp . " I don't need your help . I'm fine without ..." . But Jace never found out what she was fine without . The lights when off . There was a wave of hushed voices . Then the glass blew inward , and people started to scream . The gallery was full of demons .

Author's Note : I am really sorry I haven't uploaded , I have been ill and I just when back to school today and have had loads of mock exams . I really do apologize for the inconvenience , I know how annoying it is to want to read something and not be able . Thank you to all the people that have read and enjoyed my work , it means more than I can say . If you have any questions or suggestions please don't hesitate to ask , I would love to hear from you . I will try and update as soon as I can . Thank you so much , have a lovely evening !


	6. Chapter 6

The demons were everywhere . Crawling , slitherig things . Razor sharp teeth and black pit - like eyes . Clary tore herself away from Jace , heading for the exit . She stopped dead in her tracks . A demon , scaled and long , with a huddle of black eyes in the center of it's face . Multiple legs tipped with talons protruded from it's chest . Clary stifled a scream as it turned it's abyss - like eyes on her , and grinned .

Jace cursed under his breath ; one of his seraph blades was missing . This had not been how he had wanted things to go . He cut his way through the crowd , pushing past blissfully unaware mundanes . When Jace reached the exit , and the fire alarm , he hoped that all the artwork was in glass cases , or he was about to do something unforgivable . Jace Wayland broke the glass encasing the fire alarm as people started to scream .

The piercing sound of the fire alarm melted the ice that had formed in Clary's veins . Grabbing a very handily placed chair , she threw it at the demon and yanked open the door that led out of the gallery . She bolted down the stairs , taking them two at a time . She almost slipped in her wet heels . Cursing herself for not wearing trainers , Clary reached the bottom of the stairs . Her heart was thudding against her ribcage and her ears were ringing from the fire alarm . She slid down the wall , not caring if she got filth on her . Her hair hung lank in her face , she pushed it back impatiently . She looked up , expecting to see the small dry cleaners opposite . Instead she saw one of those things . This time , she didn't even have time to scream .

When Jace Wayland finally made it to the stairs , a seraph blade in each hand , he was wet , tired and covered in demon ichor . Then he heard a scream . Clary . Jace jumped over the railing , landing in soft crouch . He straightened up , and he stifled a gasp : Clary Fray stood over the dead body of a Ravener demon , a blazing seraph blade in her hands . Her red hair was wild and falling in her face , covering her eyes , but he could still see the expression in them , still see the panic and untamed fear . Then she looked at him , really looked at him . He still thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen , and probably would ever see . She smiled at him , a weak smile , and her knees gave way . He was there in a blink of an eye , there to catch her fall . Like he always would be .

When Clary Fray eventually stirred , the first thing she noticed was the smell of laundry soap . Lavender . An open window lit the inside of her eyelids to a bright pink , and her hair was sprayed over her clean pillow ( minus the drool ) . Clary sat up , rubbing her hand over the back of her sleep encrusted eyes . Her head felt heavy , her neck like a pile of bricks on her tired shoulders . Then she noticed someone in the chair next to the bed . Jace . He was asleep , his head pillowed on his hair . He still wore the clothes she had seen him in last . Images of the party danced around in her head . Those things , with there eyes and legs and teeth . She repressed a shudder as she lightly lifted herself off the bed , her bare feet thudding on the floor gently . She looked down at herself : a white nightgown hung off her thin frame like a bedsheet , a bandage was pasted to the back of her neck . Then Clary looked up : the ceiling was painted a pale blue , fluffy clouds dotted the scene , adorned with round - faced cherrubs trailing golden ribbon . Shaking her head and cursing herself for drinking the champagne , Clary gingerly picked up the pile of neatly folded clothes at the end of the bed and headed for the door that lead into what looked like a bathroom .

Clary gently pulled the nightgown over her head , feeling the cool air on her exposed back . She looked in the mirror : dark blue circles ringed her eyes like eyeshadow , her face was flushed at the cheekbones , intensifying the brown of her freckled . Her haind draggled in frizzy clumps and her neck was bright red , a stark contrast to the blue traceries of veins visable under her skin . Splashing cold water on her face and neck , Clary reached for the bar of soap on the sink , vigorously rubbing at her skin , getting the dirt and grime out from under her nails . The shirt was blue with white stripes and the jeans were a bit long but they would do for now . Pushing her feet into a pair of caramel leather boots , Clary came out of the bathroom , shutting the door with a click . When she turned to face the bed , she stifled a gasp . Jace stood , leaning against the doorframe next to her , a lazy expression on his face . He smiled a crooked smile and said " Good morning , sleeping beauty " .

Author's Note : I apologize profusely for not ulpoading , I have been super busy with exams . But they are over now , thankfully ! I would also like to apologize for the amount of spelling mistakes in my last chapter , I hadn't realized there was so many . If you could get the chance please leave me a review or if you have any suggestions or questions , please don't hesitate to ask . Thank you so much for reading ! Have a lovely weekend !

Love , Tempe


	7. Chapter 7

Jace woke up to the sound of running water. When he looked at the bed he found it vacant, the pile of clothes he had folded himself were also gone. Jace smiled at the memory of rummaging through Isabelle's clothes to look for something that was fairly decent; and didn't look like it belonged in a nightclub .After Clary had collapsed, he had picked her up and carried her to the Institute . Isabelle, Alec, even Hodge, had been angry at him. He was thankful that Maryse had been called back to Idris, otherwise he would have a bigger headache than he already did . But it was worth it . Clary came out of the bathroom wearing Izzy's old blue and white striped shirt, setting off the copper tones in her hair. The jeans were a bit big, reminding him of stupid mundane clowns that always seemed to be lurking at children's birthday thought gave him a shudder. The boots were nice though, giving her extra height, making look less like a fragile and delicate China doll that you didn't touch in fear of breaking it. He crossed the space between them in an instant. He was so close to her that he could feel her breath on his cheek. With no better course of action in mind, Jace turned to the girl with eyes that still brought him back to the grass in Idris, the girl that smelled like fresh flowers and charcoal and oil paint, and said, " Good morning, Sleeping Beauty ", because, to him, she would always be beautiful . He mentally kicked himself. He needed some new material, fast.

Unsure of what to say in response, Clary sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress groan and shift under her weight. Jace sat back down in the chair beside the bed, lounging in it with an annoying grace and air that was permeated with arrogance. Although a rugged smile was painted onto his face, his eyes were tinged with something she couldn't quite put into words. Curiosity ? Concern ? She couldn't quite tell . She whirled round to face him, her hair flying to fall in her face . She pushed it back impatiently and looked into his gold eyes, her mind bubbling with questions. Instead she said, " You stayed in that chair all night .That must have been pretty uncomfortable". Clary thought she could see the ghost of a smile play across his lips. It was gone in an instant."You should see Max, he can practically sleep anywhere, kind of like a cat " . Seeing her confused expression,Jace elaborated : " You met the dazzling Isabelle, Alec is her older brother . Max is the youngest. He's away with Mom and Dad at the moment . Come on, Hodge is probably counting all the books in the library again ". Jace stood up from the chair, offering his hand to Clary. It reminded her of the part in movies where the hero offers the girl his hand and says " Come with me " ( or suffer a horrible death ) . Clary, putting more than just her hand in his, moved away from the bed and followed him out the door.

After going down corridor after corridor, Clary felt like she was walking in a maze. As they walked Jace told her a little about who he was . A Shadowhunters : a being with angel blood sworn to protect ' mundanes', as they called them, from demons and other such creatures. Between Germany and France is where the Shadowhunter home country is . No, it isn't Switzerland, as she had replied, it is actually called Idris. Full of Manor houses and rolling hills and lakes. The way Jace had described it, with so much passion and longing, with difficult for Clary to comprehend . It obviously meant a lot to them, but to her it didn't sound like this peaceful paradise . It was clear that Jace had many memories, good and bad, about the place, but Clary didn't ask for she thought it might be overstepping her boundaries, if she even knew what they were. After what felt like forever, Jace and Clary arrived at a set of double doors. Just in front of them, a depressed looking cat lounged, meticulously licking it's paw. It growled at Clary. Jace laughed at her wary expression . "Don't mind him, he gets like that with everybody", Jace said to her . Shaking her head at the fuzzy cat with darting yellow eyes, Clary ducked under Jace's outstretched srm that was now holding the old wood doors open for her. It made her feel like she was welcome, like he was saying '" You belong here " .

When Clary stepped into the New York Institute's Library, the click of the doors shutting behind her didn't even resonate. The room was circular, tapering off at a pointed ceiling. Row apon row of books lined each wall, like they were trying to reach the ceiling. The floor was inlaid with gems and semi - precious stone, forming a pattern Clary couldn't quite see from this angle. A great mahogany desk to center stage in the room, the great wooden slab resting on two kneeling angels. Behind that desk stood a man in a tweed jacket ; gray dusted his hair like powdered sugar and he had kind, but tired eyes. Like it took great effort to even stand up. She almost gasped at the himped, black shape perched on his shoulder. He gave her a smile and tapped the shape on his shoulder. It was a Raven, feathers catching the light that came in from the skylight overhead, fracturing the black and exposing a rainbow of colour . " Welcome to the Institute Miss Fray . This is Hugo , a loyal creature . I, on the other hand am Mr Hodge Starkweather. An excavator of history and not nearly as loyal, or as intellectual ". He offered her his hand. She took it without hesitation . It was scarred and callused, but not in a bad way . He turned to Jace . " Jace, you didn't tell me Miss Fray was a reader like myself " . Jace smiled at him and laughed . When he laughed, it seemed to brighten his whole face . " I was a little bit busy with all the saving and heroics . Unfortunately, our reading habits didn't come into the conversation " . There was a sound like a laugh . Clary whirled round to see a boy with black hair and light blue eyes staring at Jace. Probably mistaking her blank expression for incredulity, Jace pointed at the boy in the black T - Shirt with holes in it . " Clary Fray, meet Alexander Lightwood, my parabati. He also goes by the name Alec or Mr Careful and Mature . The words didn't even seem to resonate with Alec . He pointed a finger at Clary and said, " You" .

Author's Note : I'm sorry about not uploading . School is just so boring and time consuming . If only I when to the Shadowhunters Academy . As requested from a reader, I fixed the whole comma thing, I apologize if that was annoying. I'm still learning the ropes and the keyboard on my tablet is really small, so I apologize for that, and the number of spelling mistakes. Quite a few of these chapters I wrote when I had a low blood sugar and it means I can't always concentrate. So I'm sorry for that . I will try and post as soon as I can . With half term almost here I can guarantee more chapters . As I said, I don't own these characters . I hope you enjoyed my take on the first book so far, I don't really have a plan as such but I want to see where this story goes . Thank you so much for reading and putting up with my rambling . If you have any questions or suggestions please do let me know, I'd be more than happy to talk to you . Have a great week fellow Shadowhunters.

Love , Tempe


	8. Chapter 8

" I wish everyone could stop greeting people with 'you' . Whatever happened to hello? Or nice to see you, or your hair looks nice ", Jace said,to no one in particular. The way Alec was pointing at Clary made him feel uneasy, an irrational urge to stand between them blossomed in his chest. It took everything in him to remain impassive, lounging by Hodge's desk, fingers tapping irregularly on the desk. It matched the pounding of his heart in his chest. " You stupid little mundie. You almost got Jace killed. You don't belong here. You don't even deserve to be here after what you did ", Alec said to Clary. His chest was rising and falling deeply, blue eyes burning like ice . Jace knew he should do something, say something, but he was frozen to the spot . " I think we should notify the Clave. With all these rumurs about Valentine going through the Downworld, the Clave has better things to do with their time than worry about some stupid mundane whose mother died and is no use to us ". Alec looked over at Jace, his eyes full of pleading, but Jace couldn't even look at him . After seeing his father die right in front of him, Jace was an expert in grief. He only wished that Clary wasn't as well.

" Alexander, that is quite enough talk like that . I know that Clarissa's presence ... unnerves you, but, after all, she is a guest, and she does have a right to be here" , Hodge said . Clary felt a triumphant smile spread across her face. Hodge's words made her bold, otherwise she wouldn't have said this : " You think just because you're a Shadowhunters that I'm some stupid mundane who doesn't know anything . You think that because you are royalty or whatever that you can talk down to me . You are just a spoilt brat. Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't have a right to be here. But what I do know is that I was attacked and some thing tried to kill me, and I have every right to know why ".Clary turned around and looked at Jace. She didn't know how, possibly from the set of his shoulders or the way his bottom lip was bitten , that he was angry; not just about her being a mundane. He saw her staring at him and gave her a little smile, one that reached his eyes and was ful of sencerity .

" Alec, until this investigation is over, Clary will be remaining at the Institute, and that; is not up for discussion ", Jace said in a cool and collected turn. On the other hand, Alec was fuming like a teapot.

" Jace, are just going to stand there and look all smug while she insults me. Me . Your parabati. She's a liar, she probably didn't even kill that demon ", Alec said, looking Jace straight in the eye as he said it .

" Alec, my parabati, we need Clary. Are you really calling me a liar? Besides, you need to work on you witty comebacks. Consider it ego training ", Jace said with a crooked grin. Alec didn't say anything in response. He spun on his heels and left the library. The door shut with a bang .

Hodge cleared his throat. " Well as I was saying, Clary, I would like it if you stayed here at the Institute for a while. Until this matter is resolved, imafraid it would be too dangerous on your own. Here, at the Institute, we can protect you, but, in the mundane world, you could fall victim to anything". Hodge was sitting in HS chair, stroking Hugo's feathers . A foreign jolt shot through Jace. He walked over to the desk, looking Hodge right in the eye. " Hodge the thing is, Clary isn't a mundane. Before you yell at me, please know that I was absolutely sure that at the time, I thought this was the best course of action ". Jace took in a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs. He let it out slowly, preempting the outcome of this act . " After Clary was attacked by the demon, I gave her an iratze ". There. He had said it. A simple sentence; if only the consequences could be that simple . There was silence; you could have heard a pin drop, a feather fall lightly to the ground. " By the Angel, Jace. Do you have some wish to break every rule set by the Clave? You know the consequences, the reprocussions, that come with Marking mundanes. What if you had been wrong ? You could have turned her into someone else entirely. Maybe even killed her ". Hodge set both hands on the table, staring at Jace.

" Since when am I wrong ? ", Jace asked .

" Now is certainly not the time to be smart with me . We shall discuss this later. In the meantime, I want you to go over everything we have on Valentine and the demons that we're were sent last night. If we can connect them to Valentine, we will be one step closer to figuring out his course of action ".

Clary stepped forward, unsure of herself. She had never been good at strategies or quests, when it came to D&D, that was always Simon's forte . " I think I might have an idea. Since those demons we're sent to my mom's old art gallery, it might be worth going back. Seeing if we can find, I don't know, clues perhaps?" , Clary asked tentively, biting her bottom lip . Jace straightened up over the desk . He gave her a lot that she would have liked to have drawn. A look of appreciation and surprise . " Going back to the scene of the crime, good idea Fray". Now she definitely didn't want to draw him . Only Simon called her Fray. But she didn't tell him that . " Good thinking Miss Fray ", Hodge said with a smile . Jace and Clary headed towards the door . Clary spun around when she heard footsteps behind her . It was Hodge. " One last thing, before you go, Miss Fray. Congratulations on that vanquish of yours . Your mother would be very proud ". Unsure of what to say in response, Clary only nodded and slipped out the doors with Jace, hearing them swing shut behind her.

" Jace, is it okay if I ask you something ?" , Clary asked as they were walking down the corridor .

" Sure, ask away ".

" About what Hodge said about that Mark, could it really have killed me ?". They had made it to the Institute's elevator . Jace pushed the button, his facial expressions indicating he was thinking of an answer . Finally he said : "Yes".

" So you saved me, but you also could have killed me ?". Jace pondered his response.

" Yes, but, I was like 90% sure ".

" You were 90% sure that I wasn't going to die . But there was still a ten percent chance you could have killed me ". The elevator made a ringing sound, crashing into the space in front of them . They got in . It was small, mirrors reflected the red of her hair and the gold of Jace's. After a while he replied, " Yes". Something in Clary's face must have changed, altered, for Jace liked at her, gold eyes full of curiosity. She faced him, looked into those golden eyes, and slapped him, hard, against his left cheek. Jace startled, put a hand to his now glowing, red cheek . "What the hell was that for?", Jace asked, disbelief colouring his voice. Clary smiled .

" That other ten percent ", she replied. They rode the rest of the way down in complete silence.

Author's Note : Hello, fellow Shadowhunters . First, I would like to say a huge thank you to everyone that has looked at this story, read it, favourites it or followed it . It means so much to me to see people not only reading, but enjoying, my work . I had some extra time and I really wanted to give you guys this chapter. I tried to make it similar to how it is in the book, but give my own twist to it. But, come on, you need that elevator scene. As I said, thank you guys so much. If I don't have any homework I will try to post a few more chapters this week. I would just like to reiterate that, sadly I don't own any of these characters, that right still belong to the phenomenal Cassandra Clare. By guys, have a lovely rest of your week !

Love, Tempe


	9. Chapter 9

"Alexander Gideon Lightwood, what on Earth are you doing sulking in my room like an angsty teenager ?", Isabelle asked her older brother. Alec was sprawled out on the bed, a pillow clutched in his hands, twirling the rassels absent-mindedly. It had been a gift from Izzy last Christmas; it worked extremely well as a stress ball. " First of all, this is my room. Second of all, I am not sulking. Neither am I angsty, as you so politely put it", Alec replied, impatience colouring his voice and setting his mouth in a thin line. Isabelle bounced onto the bed, shouldering Alec so she wouldn't fall off of the small bed. " True. But, your negative aura is rolling off of you in waves , and it is deeply annoying Church. That cat would not leave me alone, so I thought I would pepper you with questions instead. And... this was originally supposed to be my room, but it was too dark and didn't suit the wallpaper I had picked out at the time ", Isabelle said, twirling a piece of her hair. It was a family trait; whenever Lightwood were nervous or agitated, they would always do something to distract themselves from it, to hide how they were really feeling . " Yeah, because My Little Pony wallpaper would definitely have not gone with this curtains", Alec said with a laugh. Isabelle punched him in the shoulder good-looking naturedly. She sat up off of the bed, hands on her hips. In that moment it reminded him of their mother, Maryse, when she had scaled him and Jace when they were children. Alec had always taken the blame, even though Jace liked to stand up for himself. But that was what you did for people you lo... care about.

" I heard your fight with Jace in the library. I know this Clary girl makes you feel like your relationship with Jace is being threatened, but it isn't . Once this Valentine situation is dealt with, she will be out of our hair. Certainly yours, it is very short", Isabelle said in her most sisterly voice. Alec tugged at his hair self- conciously . " Isabelle, it isn't that simple. I saw the way he looked at her. He sided with her, over me. His parabati. His best friend. He hasn't even know this mundane for five minutes and he already has this look in his eyes when he sees her, like she's the only one in the room, even the universe, that matters to him . I just feel like... I just wish ", Alec broke off mid sentence, looking at his hands in embarrassment, unable to meet his sister's gaze. Luckily, he didn't have to . " That Jace would look at you like that. Isabelle sat next to him, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder. " For all the years I have known you, you have always loved Jace. Before you say anything, there is nothing wrong with that. Mom and Dad were always so busy. You were the eldest, you felt like you had this responsibility to take care of us. Take care of me. You never had someone you could talk to. But when Jace came along, you didn't look so alone all the time. It felt better to share your grief with someone who really understood it . Felt it. You and Jace will always be connected, but maybe it's time to share happiness and joy with someone, instead of just pain ". With that said, Isabelle gave her brother a pat on the shoulder and left the room. Alec put his head in his hands and thought about right Isabelle had been, but also how wrong.

As Clary walked down the street with Jace, she couldn't help the feeling that she was in one of the fantasy books her mother had kept on the coffee table in their old apartment. When people saw Jace, they didn't really see him. The occurrence was strange and puzzling; it made Clary's head spin like the old carossel's Luke used to take her to. She felt a pang of guilt in her chest: she hadn't called Simon or Luke since the demon attack last night. Although she couldn't right that wrong, she could try and fix a more recent one. Cutting off Jace mid- sentence about something called sreaph blades, Clary said: " I'm sorry I slapped you. It was a bit of a stupid thing to do. After all, you did save my life. So it didn't work out too horrendously". Clary bit her lip. Something she always did in nervous situations, were she couldn't predict an outcome. Jace stopped on the sidewalk. He spun around and looked at her, really looked at her. From the tangled tressels of hair escaping from her messy ponytail, to the bite marks on her bottom lip, to the wild green of her eyes. The look was unnerving, but not in a particularly bad way. He blinked. Quickly, like he was shaking cobwebs from his eyes. Then he smirked at her, a wicked quirk of the mouth that gave a dangerous tint to his eyes. " I wouldn't worry about it too much, if I were you. But, then again , I'm not you. Otherwise, I wouldn't have apologized if the roles were reversed. Alec, on the other hand, would have physically wounded you back, whilst simultaneously wounding your pride and self confidence", Jace replied in a lazy and arrogant tone that Clary had come to label "The tone Jace Wayland uses when he is touched and doesn't want to show it". It intrigued her, what lay beneath that cold and sarcastic exterior, aloof and indifferent to the emotions of others, and himself. It excited her and terrified her, but she couldn't stop herself. She was broken out of her puzzling reverie by the sound of whistling. " Come on, Clary. By the time you get out of that pretty head of yours, I'll be fifty. At least I will still be pretty", he said in an impatient then wistfull voice. Clary's mouth quircked up in the corner as she followed Jace around the corner to her mother's sanctuary. The world she had been plunged into and the one she had been born into colliding, with unknown consequences.

Author's Note: Hello all my amazing and lovely and kind fanfictioners ! This has been sitting on my tablet for a week. I am currently reading four books at once and school has been relentless with work, despite a half term originally being a period of rest and relaxation. But here I find myself, writing fanfiction whilst reading City of Heavenly Fire, what a life. I have a Dark Artifices story in the works, it is set when the Blackthorn's go to England at the start of Lady Midnight, but I want a few more chapters of this under my belt. Thank you to the 2018 people that have looked at my spelling-error dotted work and enjoyed it. That is the whole reason I write fanfiction: to bring joy to others. I will try and post at least two more chapters by Sunday, but I would love to post more if I you have any suggestions, questions, or even if you want to fan over all the epic references in the books or how much glitter Magnus has in his loft, please do let me know. Thank you so much everybody, have a lovely Friday!

All my love and gratitude, Tempe


	10. Chapter 10

When Jace first caught sight of Jocelyn Fray's old art gallery, the first thing he noticed was that glass littered the sidewalk and the polished hardwood of the gallery like ice crystals. The faint smell of champagne and oil pastel floated on the breeze. He turned slightly, risking a glance at the expression on Clary's face. Heartbreak and loss, a mind full of memories floating behind the bright green eyes, made brighter by unshed tears. Clary shook her head violently and turned to face him. "There is nothing here" , she said, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers and biting her bottom lip. Jace sighed. " Shadowhunters use glamour's to disguise themselves from the mundane can also create glamours. Someone pretty powerful must have put one here. Whoever sent the demons must be covering their tracks". Jace decided to leave out the mentioning of Valentine, after all she had been through, she didn't need to know her mother was married to a homicidal psychopath that wanted the bring the Shadow World to it's knees. He didn't want to give her another burden to carry, for the weight was heavy, as he was very aware of. Instead he took her by the shoulders, the crown of her head barely under his chin. " Focus on what you know is there but shouldn't be. Clear your mind and peel off the glamour". In his own mind, Jace imagined a flower, like the ones at the greenhouse of the Institute, petals unfurling to reveal a delicate center. He saw her mind working, removing the edges of the glamour to reveal the truth underneath. He wondered how she imagined it, probably something creative and artistic, not his sappy flower analogy. Jace felt her sharp intake of breath. She truly was a Shadowhunters. Confident that he wouldn't impale himself on a piece of glass, Jace stepped away from Clary and jumped over what remained of the window, landing in a soft crouch on the floor. Clary stood, gaping at him. He smiled a devilish grin at her. " What ?", he asked, using a piece of torn curtain to mop up some of the glass shards. " You just jumped over a bed of broken glass, when there is a door literally two feet away from you. You could have got hurt !", Clary exclaimed, worry and exasperation colouring her voice . It touched him, to know this girl who he had only met last night (properly), cared enough about whether or not he got hurt. But he didn't show it; he never did. Instead, as always, he covered his emotions in a thick layer of sarcastic humour. " Doors are for people who have no sense of adventure and aren't prepared to jump into the unknown. Or, in my case, hurtle over it was endeering grace and beauty". He hated being so cold to people, especially her, all the time, but it was the only way he knew how to keep them safe. Keep himself safe. " Yeah, you are a real ballerina. Remind me to get you a tutu and tiara for Christmas", she replied, and made a point of using the door. Jace grinned.

Clary leaned against the pale ivory wall, breathing hard. Everything in the room, despite it's current state, reminded her of her mother in some way. Even the colour of the walls: Clary had spent hours with her mother, figuring out what colour would suit the gallery, set of the colours of pastels and paint, making them more vibrant and intricate. Clary had always loved the colour, the overhead lights, despite their cheapness, gave everything a faint hazy glow. Reminding her of a crackling fireplace, life and love and turned, to find Jace staring at her, intently, like she held the secrets to the universe. Clary walked over to a part of the room that was mostly intact; only a few glass shards littered the space. She picked up a canvas, running her hand over her mother's fine brushstrokes, as if it were her signature. Clary walked over to Jace, showing him the picture: A lake,surrounded by trees, a house in the distance. Jace took it out of her hands, examining it. When he turned to her, his face was grave. " Clary", he said, not unkindly, " I know this place, I grew up near here. This is Idris, the land of the was my home ". Clary felt each word like a slap to the heart. She walked backwards from Jace, hearing the sound of breaking glass under her boots but not registering it, shaking her red head profusely. " No", she said, her voice barely above a whisper, " My mother wasn't a Shadowhunters. She didn't know any of this . It must be a mistake. It has to be. I'm not a Shadowhunters. I'm Clary Fray. I'm a perfectly normal and ordinary person ". Jace leaned the painting against a nearby wall, gingerly, a walked towards her. " Clary", he said. He put his arm around her as she cried into his shirt, feeling the fabric cling to her cheek like a second skin. She was still shaking her head, as if she could block the words from registering, they wouldn't be true. But they were. Despite what she told herself, deep down, in her heart, she knew she wasn't normal. Clary looked into Jace's gold eyes " Thank you", she whispered, putting her face back on to his shirt. He rubbed her back soothingly. " You're welcome", he said, holding her tight, as if she would fall apart otherwise. Then she heard a noise, a thump of something huge and slithering. Reluctantly, Clary drew away from Jace, feeling the mentioning creep into the muscles of his shoulder, but he still kept his arm around her. Drawing a seraph blade ( well, that was what Clary though it was called), from his belt, Jace whispered something that sounded like " Sansanvi", and the blade glowed in shimmering light. Then she saw it. A monster.

Author's Note: I am so incredibly sorry I haven't posted any new chapters, I have been a terrible person . I just finished Clockwork Princess on Tuesday and City of Heavenly Fire yesterday, as well as reading Lady Midnight. Oh my God! Heavenly Fire made me cry. Don't even start with the Epilogue at the end of Clockwork Princess. I won't spoil it for any of you who haven't read it, but, it was just incredible! I am definitely going to post another chapter by the end of the day, as well as do two hours of homework. When did life get so complicated?! ( Rhetorical question, you don't need to answer that if you don't want to ) . Anyway, thank you so much to all the lovely people who have been part of this epic story, it means the world to me. As always, if you have any comments, questions, suggestions, or you just want to talk about all the shades of gold that have been used to describe Jace Wayland, please do let me know. Thank you so much guys, see you later !


	11. Chapter 11

Jace reflexively pushed Clary behind him with his right hand, seraph blade in the other. The demon that stood before him wasn't really a demon, but for all intents and purposes, it wasn't a fluffy kitten, either. A Forsaken. Looking over the two of them, it's scarred head almost touching the ceiling. A Mantid demon or a Shax demon, Jace could kill with little, if any, emotion, but a Forsaken was a person, twisted and contorted by the doings of someone else. Being subjected to an unimaginable agony, if insanity hadn't already gripped them in it's claws. Jace drank in the details of his opponent, calculations and strategies racing through his head. The distance between him and the Forsaken, Clary and the door, the trajectory of a seraph blade from this angle. Then the Forsaken drew it's clenched fist from behind his back. A considerably large ax dangled from a blackened hand.

" By the Angel", Jace muttered, and stepped forward, a grin already spreading across his face. He threw the seraph blade.

Clary stood behind Jace, his shoulder obscuring most of her view of the thing in the doorway. She could still see, however, the gleaming blade of an ax protruding from a handle stained a dark copper-red in some places. She heard Jace muttered something. She could feel the pounding of his heart as it reverberated through her, making her shiver. He took a step forward. Even with his back to her, Clary could distinctively picture his face, the wicked glint to his eyes, the quirk of his mouth. Then he threw the blade. Not to her surprise, the blade hurtled through the air-with a slight air of Grace and arrogance that reminded Clary of Jace himself-, and sunk into the giant's chest with a sickening thump. The creature gave out a roar, clearly enraged, though it had little effect on Jace. In fact, Jace just laughed at it . Then it was if time was sped up. Suddenly Jace was hanging from one of the overhead lights, as swift sw a panther. He leaned forward, almost as if he was daring the creature to try again. The light in his eyes was beautiful, but also sharp and deadly, like one of the poisonous flowers Clary used to see in her mother's horticultural books. The manic grin on his face said" Come and get me, if you really think you can". Then Jace let go of the light and dropped, like a stone, onto the creature's back.

Jace landed on the right shoulder of the Forsaken, therefore narrowly missing the swing of the ax. It stuck into the ceiling, cracks spider-webbing from it. Jace gulped. The Forsaken raised it's large fists, clawing at the material of the rags, as if Jace was some pesky fly. Jace felt deeply offended, though he didn't make it known. Jace drove his seraph blade into it's shoulder, feeling the tearing of tissue and muscle. For a moment, there was silence. The creature began to sway slightly, like a wispy-thin tree in the wind. Then the Forsaken began to fall. Jace leaped off the Forsaken, landing in a crouch of blood and broken glass. He straightened up, pain lacing through his arm. Then the Forsaken fell on top of him.

Clary heard the snap of breaking bones, like brittle twigs in a forest. She ran to help Jace, unsure of how to help, but it was too late. Jace lay sprawled amid a shower of broken glass. She knelt down beside him . Up close, the creature was even more hideous. Thin, flaking skin like torn paper, red, blood-shot eyes visible in it's lacerated face. Clary touched Jace's shoulder, sticky with blood- his or the creature's, she couldn't tell. Then his eyes flew open. " Boo", he said. Clary let out a startled cry, jerking her hand away from his shirt. "Jace, seriously, how old are you, five ?" , Clary asked, annoyance colouring her voice. Jace could be such a child, then sincere and kind in the blink of an eye. She supposed it was something she would have to get used to.

" Well, last time I checked, I was seventeen, but I could be wrong". " Do you need any help with that?", Clary asked.

"With what? To be honest, I do need some help with finding the right jacket to go with my demon stomping boots, but..."

" I was reffering to the dead giant sprawled across your legs like, well, a dead giant. I wasn't reffering to your fashion sense, if you could call it that", Clary replied, reflecting some of Jace's own sarcasm back at him. He manuvered himself on to his elbows. She saw him wince, but he hid it behind an arrogant grin. " Very funny. First, my fashion sense is impeccable, and, secondly, the Forsaken isn't dead. Yet. Wait until I get my hands on him, see how he feels to be swatted at like bug. How rude. Put your hand in my pocket", Jace said. Clary looked at him curiously, uncertainty clear on her face. " I'm sorry?".

"My stele, it's in my pocket and since my arm is currently shattered like a bauble, I can't get into it". " Which pocket?", Clary asked.

Jace jerked his chin to the right. Taking a deep breath, Clary gingerly put her hand inside his jacket. If she felt the heat of his skin or the smooth fabric of his shirt, she ignored it. She drew out something that resembled a pencil and a paintbrush, made of some shimmering material, like the blade Jace had used. She handed it to him without a word. Shifting into a more comfortable position, Jace took the paintbrush and began to draw. That was the only way she could describe it. Swirling black lines spilled out of it like ink, coalescing into a pattern of curves and lines. The look of hooded pain left his face. Jace sat back, his hair a tangled pillow on the hardwood. "This", he said , " Is a stele". " This", pointing at his arm, " Is an iratze. A rune. A healing rune to be more procise. It's kind of self explanatory". " That", he said, pointing to the creature, " Is a Forsaken. A person that has been Marked by runes, driving them insane, twisting them into something mindless and twisted. I wonder who sent them". Clary mulled over the thoughts in her head. " No wonder Hodge was so angry at you. At least that slap wasn't completely worthless, though I'm still sorry about that", Clary replied with sincerity.

" Hodge is constantly angry at me, I think the feeling is frozen in him, it never seems to thaw". In that moment Clary really felt for Jace, who's voice was dripping with raw emotion. Clary still wondered what had happened to him, why he covered his feelings in a balm of sarcasm. It didn't really seem to help anybody, especially himself. " I like how you can so casually talk about others distain for you while a giant is sprawled over you and still retain a sense of grace and dignity".

"I like how you can still make me smile while a giant is sprawled over me. As for the grace and dignity, those are all natural, and never waver, even when covered in blood and glass. Speaking of which"... Jace pulled a piece of glass from her hair. She hoped he couldn't see her blush, but, knowing Jace, he probably could. She mentally pulled the breaks. Since when had she known Jace, they had only properly met yesterday, so why did she feel like she knew him, his quirks and tone and his catalogue of smiles?. But, to be honest, she had known Jace Wayland since her mother died, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that. Carefully removing his legs from underneath the demon, Jace stood, wobbling slightly. It would have been cute, if he wasn't covered in blood. Clary stood. Sense flew out the window and she put her arm around his shoulders to steady him, even though he didn't need it. Then a voice came from the doorway. " My, what a mess you made child".

Clary gasped. " Madame Dorothea?".

Author's Note: I am so sorry I haven't uploaded, I started on this yesterday but couldn't get around to finish it. Stupid German homework, who needs to know how to say "the candle" in German? ( No offense to anybody German, I should know, since I have German heritage). Anyway, I will definitely upload another chapter today, I swear on the life of my favourite golden haired, duck hating Shadowhunters, Jace ( I won't spoil it for anyone that hasn't read it. Thank you so much to all the people who have read my story and enjoyed it. I would like to say a gigantic thank you to Andiey, your words really meant a lot to me. Thank you so much guys, I will see you in an hour.

With great love and affection, Tempe


	12. Chapter 12

Simon walked along the cracked pavement, dead leaves fluttering in his wake. He hadn't seen Clary since last night, when she had ran out of the gallery like her hair was on fire,and it had looked like she had been talking to someone invisible. As far as he, Simon Lewis, knew, the only magic that existed was the kind in Dungeons and Dragons, and even that wasn't all that great. Simon pulled out his battered phone and called Clary for, he checked his phone, the 18th time. Voicemail. Simon thought he could know recite that same, non descript voice in his sleep. Knowing him, he probably could. Without even realising it, Simon had turned a corner and was now heading towards Java Jones. He opened the door, the scent of coffee and sugar hitting him in deep waves. He chose a red leather seat, upholstery cracked and peeling like the bark of an old tree from the hours he had sat on it, next to Clary. Always next to her. That was the way it had been, since they were little. Him and Clary, inseperable, as important and vital to him like an arm or a leg. To him, but not to her. To her, Simon Lewis would always be her best friend. The person she wrote a graphic novel with, the person she when to concerts with and art exhibitions and the person she dragged out in the summer when they when to Luke's old farmhouse. The boy who would sit with her by the lake while she drew, who cleaned her face when she got charcoal all over it. But maybe...

Simon was stirred out of his reverie by an insistent beeping. He glanced down and found that his phone had switched itself off. Simon shuved it back into his pocket and looked around at all the people through a veil of steaming coffee. Java Jones had always been their place, where they would sit and talk about their day, their plans for the weekend. He would always bring her coffee, not caring about burning his fingers, because he was doing something for her, and she would always smile at him, a look of gratitude. Gratitude, and only gratitude. But recently, Clary was caught up in her world of pen and ink and paint, as if she was scared of the real world around her. He knew that her mother's death had been hard on her, but sometimes he would look at her and see the girl he had grown up with, the girl who had made countless forts with him and stayed up all night, just talking; but other times, she looked as distant as if she were on another planet, and it scared him, more than he cared to admit. After his father had died, Simon remembered that bleak emptiness he had felt, all the loss and regret that weighed on him like a tonne of bricks. He had had his mother, his sister Rebecca, but Clary was always there for him. The one who made him laugh when he felt like crying, the one who would smile at him, and he would think that all his hope hadn't died with his father. Because he had Clary. He would always have Clary. He wouldn't give her up for anything. So Simon Lewis dug out his phone from the pocket of his ripped blue jeans, and called the most important person in his world . The love of his life. His Clary.

Isabelle Lightwood was sprawled on her bed, looking up at the black and gold swirled ceiling. She hated to see Alec so upset. She would kill anybody who dared to hurt him, but she couldn't do that when the culprit was her brother. Maybe not her blood brother, but her brother none the less. Ever since Jace came to the Institute from Idris when he was ten, there had always been something about him, the glint in his eyes and the crookidness of his smile that had said" Love me, I don't have anyone else", even though Jace would never say those words aloud, she could tell he still felt it, even now. Having Alec as his parabati helped him in ways Izzy couldn't put into words, especially since she didn't have a parabati, and didn't plan to. But she knew her brothers, both of them, and she knew that one without the other would be like a lone boot, sitting at the back of the closet, or a shoe withwa broken heel. Sometimes Isabelle wondered if her brothers were broken. You would assume it would be Jace, after the death of his father, that would need mending, but when she looked into the blue eyes of her older brother, she saw something undefinable. Sadness? Desperation? Approval? Longing? She couldn't say. But she did know that Alec's feelings were eating away at him like demon ichor, an internal burning that he tried so well to hide. But she knew. She was his sister, his blood.

And now this Clary girl being added to the pot of emotions that was already boiling and bubbling over, as it would be long after she had gone, which she really hoped was soon. It is easier, so much easier, to blame a stranger rather than yourself. Isabelle seriously wondered what the point of love was. Sure, she had had relationships with people before, especially to annoy her parents, but she had never really _felt_ anything. The butterflies in your stomach when they walk into a room, the rush of blood in your veins when they smile at you, and you really think you could just melt into a puddle, as long as they were there to catch you, keep you upright. Always. What was the point of putting yourself, putting your heart, through so much grief and pain and agony, when it will only end badly, for both of you ? But then, Isabelle realised with a start, is the whole point of love; to walk off an emotional cliff, not knowing if you will walk across or plummet to the earth. When you take a leap of faith, and you pray and you hope. And even if it hurts you, even if it scares you and scars you, and it breaks you into millions of pieces, it is worth it, for that one perfect moment, when you realise someone loves you. They love you for who you are, not who you pretend to be. So you take the pleasure with the pain. You don't regret the pleasure, and the pain shapes you into who you are today. Isabelle jumped off the bed, her boots clacking loudly on the floor. She kicked a stray dress out of the way and headed for the door in search of ice cream. Ice cream was essential for a revelation, especially about yourself. And she liked it, which was an added bonus. An idea struck her like lightning. " Alec will be sooo mad ", she muttered to herself, and ran to the kitchen in search of spoons.

Author's Note: Wow! Sorry, that was really deep. It was just flowing out of me, I didn't really even look at the words. I'm sorry if that was a bit too much text, I just wanted to do something a little bit different. I enjoyed writing for Isabelle, exploring the relationship between the three Lightwoods , not including Max, of course. Don't worry, we shall see more of Simon, I promise ! He is just hiding in the land of comic books, nachos and Dungeons and Dragons. Unfortunately, I don't own the rights to Dungeons and Dragons, but can you imagine a Mortal Instruments and Dungeons and Dragons crossover ! Simon would be fangirling soooo hard, or Star Wars ! So many ideas, so little time. Thank you so much to all the people who have helped me on this amazing journey, even just the people who look at my story have shaped me, I really do love you guys. See you soon !

With great love and respect, Tempe


	13. Chapter 13

Jace wiped the blood off of his cheek, smearing the Voyance rune on his left hand. A gruesome pattern of red and black on his skin. He still felt a little unsteady, even with Clary's small arm around his shoulders. But then again, that could have been making it worse. Jace wasn't used to dealing with pure displays of emotion; Shadowhunters rarely cried, especially in front of others. It was a sign that although you are part angel, you are still part human. You still feel all those emotions, bursting like fireworks in your blood. The cold rage of battle, the ice of loss that spreads in your veins. But none the less, seeing her cry had ignited something in him. Jace was all too familiar with the feeling that ensues after your whole world comes crashing down on you, the fragile walls of your life, crumbling and cracking at your feet, refelecting something cruel and unknown, while you stand in the centre of the rain, the shards of pain hitting your face, but you don't care because you are numb with shock because you realise that you are so alone it hurts to breathe, to blink. He guessed he just didn't want Clary to feel that way. Because somebody did care about her, somebody who wanted to dry her tears and take her in their arms, fit her broken pieces back together. That was all Jace Wayland had wanted since he was ten years old: to fix the broken pieces of this heart, his soul, somebody who would be there, wanted to be there, to hold him while he cried. But people like that were hard to come by, especially in the world of Shadowhunters and Downworlders.

Jace heard Clary take a sharp intake of breath. She turned, but didn't remove her arm. A woman stood by the open window, a gaudy floral dress flowing around her in citrus folds. He noticed, with vague indifference, that she was wearing slippers. Maybe she had been given the slippers as a token of affection by somebody and couldn't be bothered to get a new pair. Diverting his eyes from the slippers that looked like they were made out of carpet, Jace disentangled himself, painfully, from Clary, walking over to the Forsaken lying a few feet away. He turned to Clary, wariness in his eyes. " You may not want to look at this", he said, then added in a whisper, "I wouldn't hold it against you". But she met his gaze, clear and strong. Probably too shocked to speak, she only nooded her head at him. Jace took a blade from his pocket and brought it down on the Forsaken's neck. A pool of blood started to seep into the floor. Decapitation was always Jace's least favourite part, if he had a favourite part to begin with. He shoved the blade back into his pocket and walked back over to Clary and the lady with the slippers. Clary looked like she was about to embrace the woman, but thought better of it. Instead she took a few hesitant steps towards the woman with the dress and slippers, questions brewing behind her green eyes like coffee." Madame Dorothea, what are you doing here ?", Clary asks, skeptism clear in her voice. To be honest, Jace himself would be skeptical of anyone weraing such clothing. Especially if they were a mundane.

" Can't a lady visit her friends gallery and see how her daughter is ?" Madame Dorothea questioned.

" You and my mother were never friends and something tells me you don't want biscuits and tea and to talk about gold leaf and brush stroke techniques or different shades of blue", Clary replied bitterly.

" Well, art has never been my field of interested, but am interested in some tea; I do hate biscuits. Come. When can discuss your... situation there", Madame Dorothea said, but her tone brooked no argument.

"Excuse me, Miss Citrus Dress, we can't just leave a body, no less one of a Forsaken, lying around on the floor. That's like putting up a neon sign, proclaiming " Bird Watching Club " and expecting them to talk about herbal tea. And the Clave wouldn't like it", Jace said, adding the end as an after -thought .

" Jace Wayland, since when do you care about what the Clave wouldn't like. If they told you to wear an orange tie, you would go for the black one ", Madame Dorothea replied curtly.

" Of course I wouldn't wear an orange tie, it would clash with the golden waves of my luminous hair. Second, black ties go with everything. And thirdly, this is the most important bit, I really, truly don't care about your opinion if me . You don't even know me ", Jace replied, anger bubbling underneath the surface of his skin, coiling in his veins, wrapping him in a sharp web of rageful thorns.

" My dear boy, I know more than you think I do. I know more about you than you do. Come, we can talk about this in my shop ", Madame Dorothea said, spinning on her heel and walking out the door, closing it with such force that some of the fractured glass fell out.

Clary walked over to Jace, tentively putting her hand on his arm. She knew she was upset. His face may have been as cool and blank as a sheet of ice, but she could see, could feel, that bubbling anger under the surface, that fiery rage coursing through him like lava. An internal struggle: his cold facade and his fiery emotions, not just rage . " Are you all right?" , Clary asked, trying not to overstep her bounds. What were her bounds? Where were her bounds? Jace looked at her, gold eyes on green. He looked like he was going to say something, then decided against it and shut his mouth, lips forming a tight line. He took a breath. " I'm never alright", he said. Jace stalked away from her and was out of the door in five seconds, oblivious to the rain of glass under his feet. Unsure of what to do, Clary walked over to the door and moved some of the glass with the toe of her boot, unfortunately resulting in her just spreading more glass. Giving up with a sigh, like she had on so many other things, Clary Fray followed the fiery cold boy down the street to a home of crystal balls and fake futures.

Author's Note: Since saying the word sorry for ten lines of text won't convey how apologetic I am for not uploading or how much I hate myself for making you lively people who actually take the time to read my excuse of a story, I will just say this. I am a stupid idiot who needs to better organize their time so they can repay all the live and gratitude they have been shown. There, that pretty much covers it. But, I do have one feeble excuse. Two, actually. One : Lord of Shadows! Just , wow. That book, I haven't even finished it and I already live it and it is just so cool and awesome and pretty and just, wow! Second: School. The constant evil in my life that threatens my sanity for eight hours, five days a week. My Blackthorn story is in the works, I have had a few Ides that came to me but I wanted to post a chapter of this instead. Thank you so much for all your live andosupport, it means the world to me. Thank you to Mina, a treasured friend and a beautiful writer. Thank you so much guys, I hope you enjoy this chapter and your Friday evening !

All my deepest love and gratitude, Tempe


	14. Chapter 14

Jace followed Madame Dorothea to her shop, whistling to himself, trying to relieve some of the tention that had settled over him like a fog, wrapping him up, then spitting him out again, leaving him hollow and empty like a dry orange. He didn't like the woman, or the fact that she had been able to get under his skin, or the fact that she had upset Clary. Clary, the sweet girl who lost her mother and made sure he was okay. She must have been a nurse or something in a past life- if you believed in that kind of stuff- to even go near him. He was damaged and broken and unrepairable, and that was just how he liked it. So wrapped up in his cocoon of thoughts, he almost stumbled into a sign proclaiming " Free gem with every purchase." The stupidity of mundanes still surprised and amused him.

When Clary first stepped inside Madame Dorothea's shop the first thing that hit her was the smell : Burning incense and dried leather. Posters on all sorts of palmistry and fortune telling lined the walls. Bookcases full of heavy tomes and battered romance novels fighting for dominance. It reminded her of Luke's bookshop. Luke. Pushing thoughts of the only father she had ever known from her head, Clary tried to stop herself from crying by focusing on a poster of the circus until her eyes were sore from not blinking. Suddenly she felt a presence behind her, and she was not surprised to find Jace, a centimetre behind her, grinning that stupid grin of his. She wanted to slap it off of his face. Realising she had already done that, she averted her attention back to the poster.

"You know, if you stare at that piece of paper any more intently, it will crumple under your hateful glare ", he said.

Against her better judgement, Clary whirled around to face him ."So, what, am I Superman now? Do I shoot lazer beams out of my eyes and have a severe allergic reaction to green rock from my home planet ?"she snapped back.

"First of all, your "Home planet", is Earth, and second of all, who shoots lazer beams out of their eyes? Wouldn't they just end up damaging their own eyes in the process ?"

"Oh I give up,"Clary said rolling her yes to the ceiling and stalking off to a nearby bookcase. Jace was there in a instant.

" Listen little girl, rolling your eyes up to Heaven isn't going to help anyone, and it certainly won't help with your baffling dislike for me. So can you please stop acting like a five year old and actually focus on the task at hand ?" Jace asked mockingly . Clary began to splutter with rage. Jace only laughed and rubbed her head , sauntering off to a velvet armchair and draping himself across it. Clary followed begrudgingly and chose the chair next to Dorothea, also as far away from Jace as humanly possible in the small space.

To distract herself, Clary began picking away at the sandwiches. Cucumber. They looked out of place on the silver platter, and Clary shuddered to think about what she usually put on the silver object. Shrunken heads ? Or just heads in general ? Eye of newt ? Tooth of squirrel? Claw of some creepy bird-chicken hybrid ? Clary cursed herself for her wild imagination, but she still didn't look at the plate while she ate the sandwiches.

"You haven't touched your tea, it will get cold," Dorothea said.

"I'm not one for tea, especially Earl Grey. Hate bergamot," Jace replied, looking down at the plate of sandwiches to realise Clary made ate them all. He repressed a smile.

"So, you hate bergamot, which is highly amusing. You don't like cucumber, so what else don't you like ?" Clary asked. Jace stopped. It wasn't the question itself that startled him, but the fact that Clary was genuinely curious. Jace Wayland didn't do genuine, but he could do hostile and cold and sarcastic. Much more safe, for both of them.

"First of all, there is nothing wrong with a dislike for bergamot. Second of all, I never said I don't like cucumber. Thirdly, I hate liars, and your judgement of me," Jace replied bitterly.

"First of all, I found it funny that you even knew what it was. Second of all, they way you looked at the sandwiches and the faint crinkling of your brow indicated your dislike of cucumber. Thirdly, I'm not a liar, but you still dislike me, and I am in no ways judging you, just making observations. Just like I am sure you do all the time," Clary replied.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh, Jace Wayland," Clary mocked lightly.

"Enough ! Will you stop flinging insults at each other like you are in some tennis match, it's giving me a headache ", Madame Dorothea protested.

"And I've had enough of you. Tell us what you know about Jocelyn Fray and the Mortal Cup, or I will bring in the force of the Clave down upon you, your cheap shop, and your worthless sandwiches."

"Jace", Clary warned.

"No, it's quiet alright, Clary. Mr Wayland has a job to do. And, as you will learn, that comes above everything else."

Author's Note : I know I haven't updated, I have had really bad fanfiction writing block, but I have had loads of ideas for the book I am currently writing. I won a creative writing competition and because of that I have a list of books I want to read that is a mile long. I was thinking about writing a little more for this chapter, but I really liked the way it ended, and I hope you do too ! Summer starts in a couple of days, so I really will post more. Enjoy your week fellow Shadowhunters !

Lots of love, Tempe


	15. Chapter 15

"My mother was a witch..." Dorothea began. She was immediately stopped by the intervention of a certain golden- haired Shadowhunter.

"That's physically impossible. Warlocks can't have children. They're sterile" .

"Like mules," Clary chipped in.

"Not now, Clary. As I was saying..." Jace started.

"And as I was saying, boy, before your glorious interruption, my mother adopted me. She cared for me and possibly loved me, but she also taught me everything she knew. So that one day, she could pass the mantle onto someone else. Someone she trusted, and others would also."

"This place is a Sanctuary? A place for criminals on the run from the law? " Jace asked.

"You people have to label everyone, don't you? Just because someone has committed a crime does not make them a criminal," Madame Dorothea replied, bitterness seeping into her voice like ink through parchment.

Clary set her empty teacup down. "I thought that was the definition of a criminal, someone who has broken the law".

Dorothea turned to Jace, " You are familiar with the motto of your great and imperial laws?".

Jace's jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. " _Sed lex, dura lex ._ The Law is hard, but it is the Law ".

" Your law can be too harsh and cruel on those in need," she said, turning to Clary and looking her straight in the eye. " Your mother was one of those such people. I let her stay here, protected from _their_ kind, and she did favours for me in return. Nothing major, just small signs of gratitude". She picked up a pack of tarot cards, bound in a thick ribbon. Some of the cards were warped, like when you put too much water on a piece of paper without letting it dry. The finish was gold and vibrant and steeped in beauty, just like her mother had been. Apart from the gold bit.

"My mother painted these," Clary said. Dorothea nodded and gestured to the two teacups.

"Be a dear and pass me your cups, would you ?"

Jace, who justed wanted something to complain about, protested with: "I haven't finished it yet."

"But my patience is finished with your attitude." Jace spluttered and gave in to her cold glare.

Dorothea picked up Clary's first, possibly momentarily repelled by Jace's cup. She swirled it around in her large palms, holding it up to the light, then bringing it back down again. It reminded Clary of a kaleidoscope, the art of the leaf reading; nobody ever saw what someone else saw, and each and every person interpreted the images and colours and patterns differently. They all saw what they wanted to see, just like she had all her life. Her life that was built upon a sheet of lies as thin as black ice, and below lay harsh truths and harsher realities.

Madame Dorothea slammed the teacup on a table with a bang like a gunshot.

"There is something in your mind. It's all fuzzy and cloudy. I don't know what to tell you." Probably figuring she would have better luck with the other cup, Dorothea discarded Clary's cup back onto it's abandoned saucer at the age of a table. She stared into it, as if she could read the secrets of the universe in the clumps of tea and sugar, or, more importantly, the secrets to Jace's universe, which was far more complex and mysterious.

"I see an enemy..."

"That's a given, in my heroic and dashing line of work. One, did you say? That's surprising. Maybe Christmas came early?"

"You will be knocked into Christmas if you interrupt me again, Wayland." She raised an eyebrow in his direction. Clary could see a growing trend, this whole eyebrow raising business. It made her even more annoyed about her own eyebrows.

"You will fall in love with someone you shouldn't, and that love may put you and others in danger," Madame Dorothea said. Jace didn't have any witty comebacks for that. In fact, he just stayed silent, eyes fixed on a particular patch of empty space.

"You have violence in your future _,_ and you and others like you will shed blood. That is all I know."

Jace got up from is chair in a hostile jerk, looking over Dorothea in a way that made Clary feel uneasy.

"Jace," she warned, but he didn't hear her, barely even registered her in the room. It was just him, Dorothea, and his burning fury.

"You're lying; I can tell. I think you're hiding something, among these cheap plastic bead curtains, your creepy taxidermy crows and gothic swathes of fabric. Tell me what I need to know, what I want to know, or I will bring down the force of the Clave on you so hard this house will quake."Jace let out a puff of breath. It hung there, as if suspended on a wire like those cheap tin foil stars you sometimes get at school dances.

"Now, Mr Wayland, there is no need to be rude."

"I disagree, Lady of Haven. I profusely disagree. Let's she'd some light on the subject." Madame Dorothea opened her mouth in protest but then closed it in surrender. Jace would do what he wanted, no matter if people agreed or not.

Jace crossed to one of the heavy black curtains hanging over a nearby window. He tugged it down, leaving a trail of dust in his wake that puffed under his boots.

"Would you be so gracious as to tell me why there is a Portal in your shop?" Jace asked, mockful sincerity dripping from every word. " Don't tell me, you keep it as an escape, which is why Mrs Fray was next door. She knew that if the time came for her to leave, she could get out easily".

Madame Dorothea blanked Jace completely and instead turned to Clary. " Your mother loved you; she couldn't leave without you. She was on the way here when she had here...accident... but I'm sure you know that Jocelyn Fairchild's death was far from an accident".

"Her name was Jocelyn Fray, not Fairchild," Clary whispered to herself. In this swirling world of craziness, she needs something to hold on to. Anything.

Clary got up and crossed the room to stand beside Jace. The Portal was a door, with no visible path from the outside. Hidden in plain sight, like so many other things, she was beginning to realise.

"I want to know where she would have gone. Where she would have run to. Where she felt safe."

"Clary, you can't. You don't have..."

But Clary never knew what she didn't have, because at that very moment she took a leap of faith, a faith she had entrusted in her mother, opened the door, and plunged into the unknown.

Author's Note: I have a chapter ! Finally !

Love, Tempe


	16. Chapter 16

Falling. She was falling. Hurtling through nothingness, a space in-between. A limbo that could lead to anywhere. She didn't know if she screamed, she probably did, and was thankful that there was nobody there to hear it. Her back connected with solid ground. She could see a tree out of the corner of her eye. Clary sat up, rubbing her left elbow from were it had struck the ground. Grass. She sat up gingerly, and was rewarded by a weight that knocked the breath out of her. She tasted... blond? Clary opened her eyes to find Jace's gold gold eyes staring back at her. They were so close, she could feel his breath stir the hair by her cheek. He grinned and rolled to the side, catching his breath. His heart had been hammering; she had felt it through his T- Shirt. Jace looked at her ruefully.

"You hit me," he said.

"I didn't mean to," Clary protested.

"You still hit me. I could die from the pointiness of your elbow."

" I'm sorry. If you want I'll put a plaster on it. Later. Right now we need to figure out..." Clary stopped, finally taking in all the details of her surroundings. The chain-link fence, the grey of the house. The sign at the front. The padlock on the door.

"I know where we are," she said.

"You do?" Jace raised an eyebrow. It made her want to slap him. Again

" This is Luke's house."

"Your friend lives in a bookstore?"

"He lives behind the store, actually. And he's not just a friend. He's the only real father I've ever known. The doors locked."

"I can see that, genius," Jace retorted. "Is there another entrance?"

Clary brushed grass out of her hair. " Around the back," she said, making for the fence.

Jace was suddenly in front of her, his face inches away from hers. As gentle as she had ever seen him, he pulled a leaf from her hair. It flew in the breeze. " After you."

Jace followed Clary over the dead lawn to the fence. They turned and emerged at the back of the house. He didn't know why he had taken the leaf out of her hair. It was a friendly gesture. But Jace wasn't her friend. He was just some guy who had showed up and turned her world upside down, made her learn truths she didn't want to know, wasn't ready to know. But then again, she had done the same to him. A flicker in the corner by the bushes caught his eye. Clary, seeing it too, took a step back, closer to him. Jace supressed a grin. Jace leaped to the bush. He rolled, a weight crushing his chest, sprawling and crawling in the dirt. Finally ( obviously), Jace won. One boot planted on the intruders' chest, Jace looked down at them.

" Show us your face," Jace said.

The intruder removed the hood covering their face. Brown hair and brown eyes stared into Jace's face. Jace heard a sharp intake of breath. Concerned, Jace turned to face Clary who had a hand over her mouth, disbelief etched into her face.

"Simon?" she said.

Clary sat on the top step next to Simon, dabbing his cuts with the corner of his sleeve. He winced.

" Sorry," she said.

"Sorry? You don't call for days and all you can say is sorry? You're sorry that I've been running around like a headless chicken whose tail's on fire trying to find you? You're sorry that I thought you were dead?" Simon stood up suddenly, pacing the top step. "Then, when I finally find you, your with some black clad dyed blond Justin Beiber wannabe?"

"Look, Simon, it's complicated," Clary protested.

"Well, explain it to me slowly in small words, I'm sure I'll catch up."

Clary rolled her eyes and stood, walking over to Jace who was whistling and twirling his stele up in the air and then catching it. She wondered if this ''Clave' would approve. Probably not.

"I'm going to tell him," she said.

"I know."

"I need to tell him."

"I know that too," he replied.

"You won't try and stop me?"

"I can never stop you doing something stupid or dangerous that could result in injury so far, why should I try now? The law may bind me, but it doesn't bind you. Even then, that wouldn't stop you."

Clary nodded and turned away. She could have sworn she heard Jace say, "And that's what I like about you," but that was probably just her wild imagination. Jace turned to face Simon.

"Who's Justin Beiber? And, for the record, Mundie, my hair is naturally blonde."

Author's Note: I'm sorry to those of you who like Justin Beiber, he was the only person I could think of . Happy Sunday!

Lots of love, Tempe


	17. Chapter 17

"So, let me get this straight, demons are real and you and this weirdo are... remind me again?" Simon said, pushing his glasses back over the bridge of his nose.

"Shadowhunters," Clary finished for him, leaning against him on Luke's back porch.

"We do have other names, but none as pretty. Just for the record, you're the wild one, not me. Why were you skulking around in the bushes anyone? If you were really concerned about Clary you wouldn't just be sitting in a patch of foliage, twiddling your thumbs," Jace -Simon was pretty sure that was his name- said.

"Listen, dude, this is Clary's home. I thought she might come back. Of course the first thing I did when she didn't answer my 274 phone calls was come and ask Luke. But he acted all freaked out and frantic. Kept pushing his glasses up, picking at his nails. He wouldn't even look me in the eye. He told me that you were staying with some relatives in the country and the farm didn't have cell service. As if I would believe that; I'm not that much of an idiot."

"You could have fooled me," Jace said.

Simon got up, staring daggers at the boy. But Jace wasn't looking at him, he was looking at someone else.

Exasperated, Clary stood up. "Easy now. Simon, I appreciate all that you've done, and the 274 phone calls, but unfortunately none of this is going to help me or anyone find out what is going on here. So could you, both of you, please pull it together and stop acting like squabbling children for just five minutes?"

Simon nodded. He hated seeing Clary so upset.

Jace skulked over towards her, bending his head low against her ear. A wave of muttering: Protests from Clary, pleading from Jace, and then silence. Jace shook his head and stepped away from her, an odd look in his eyes.

"Is there any other way into the house?" he asked.

"Luke usually keeps a spare key in the flower pot," she said, bending down next to an assortment of Flora and rummaging around, the soil clinging to her skin like tissue paper. She emerged with an old key; dirt and oxygen had corroded it's once shining surface. Clary turned the key in the door. It swung open on squeaking hinges.

"Ladies first," Jace said.

Clary smiled at him and stepped over the threshold.

"Since when are you a lady?" Simon asked, but he was met with no reply.

As one would expect from a bookshop, even from the back you could see the towers of books that looked over boxes and smaller piles of books like skyscrapers. The smell of book dust and ink and old paper and coffee filled the small space. It was dark, the only illumination coming from the light by the porch. Clary groped for the light switch but instead her hand landed on something soft. And alive. Looking up, Clary saw two golden eyes starting at her. Her hand was above Jaces' heart; she could feel it hammering against his sternum. Clary cleared her throat and stepped back. Jace didn't say anything, only flicked on the light that was above his shoulder. Clary turned to retreat from the awkwardness that had curled around them when she saw something glinting from the corner of her eye. Picking up on her line of sight, Jace crossed to the corner of the room.

"Clary, I think you should see this."

Reluctantly, Clary crossed the room to where Jace was standing, careful to leave a gap between them. Above her hair a pair of manacles clanked together under Jaces' prodding finger, swaying in an invisible breeze. A thick red coated them that, even from this distance, Clary could see that it wasn't paint. Plaster dust flaked like snow from where someone had tried to tug at the restraints. Something stronger than a person. A human person. Clary heard shuffling behind her.

"Well, this is ..." Simon cleared his throat.

"If you say what I think you are going to say, I will give you a three hour lecture on how cute Ewoks are," Clary said, turning to face Simon.

Simon pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. " No, the Ewoks, not the Ewoks. They totally ruined the movie," Simon protested.

"But they were so cute! " Clary retorted.

"Enough of the nerdiness! You're seriously creeping me out. Now, can we please get on with this? It will be dark soon and, believe it or not, I don't want to get eaten. I'm too pretty to get eaten." Jace headed towards one of the larger tower of books, almost tipping over a pile of battered romance novels.

Simon whistled. "Jee, that guy seriously loves the sound of his own voice, and himself, doesn't he?".

"Be grateful, ''that guy' saved my life," Clary said, heading in Jaces' direction and not trying to damage anything.

Clary rounded a pile of classic literature and found Jace in Luke's study, a duffel bag spilling out with all kinds of weaponry. A bundle of flannel was squished into the end, an obvious after thought. Simon came up behind her and grabbed what looked like a sword whilst making light saber noises. Sometimes he took nerdiness to a whole new level, or a whole new planet.

Underneath what looked like a crossbow, a cracked picture in a wooden frame peaked out. Her and her mom and Luke at a carnival, her hair in two braids and a bundle of pink candy floss in her hand. She remembered that day. It had been the end of the year and she had wanted to do something special . Her first tooth had only just fallen out the week before, you could see it in the photo. Thoughts of her childhood flittered through her memory like fireflies. Her mom was dead, Luke could be as well. The Clary in that photo was dead, and she was never coming back. Too much had happened, happened to her, to go back to that sweet yet bitter life. Would she rather live a lie and be happy, or would she rather know the truth and be miserable? Thinking like that made her want to curl up into a ball and cry into her mother's shoulder. But her mother was dead, and she wasn't going to cry in front of Jace or any other Shadowhunter. Scrunching up her eyes until the pain cleared her head, Clary turned away from the desk and closed the door softly on her way out.

Clary froze.

From here she could see the door, see a silhouette that she could recognize anywhere: Luke's. But there was two that she didn't recognize. She heard the scraping of the key in the lick. Suddenly a hand was over her mouth. She kicked out, heard a grunt and a voice in her ear.

"It's me, you idiot, get away from the door before you get yourself killed." Only one person would call her an idiot. Jace.

"Jace," Clary began, but she didn't get a chance to finish. Suddenly she was being dragged across the landing and back into the study. A gust of air blew into the room. Luke was home, and the others were with him. Ducking behind a vintage Chinese screen depicting spring and cherry blossom, Clary peered over the top. Then Simon was next to her, his nose peeking up over the top. Soon Jace joined the two, pushing Clary aside, lightly, to draw a line. The screen became transparent, like a bowl of water, and she could see into the next room. See Luke tied to a chair, his face and wrists torn and bleeding, and two men standing over him, laughing all the while.


	18. Chapter 18

(Author's Note: I updated the last chapter so you might want to read it before you read this one).

* * *

Jace heard Clary's sharp intake of breath and felt a twinge rush through him as if he had been shocked with volts of electricity; he didn't want her to see someone she loved hurt-he knew the feeling with a hateful familiarity. She began to stand and he yanked her back down with more savagery than was probably necessary. She glared at him.

"You'll thank me later," he mouthed to her, chancing another look at the two men peering down at Luke. A patch of sunlight lit their faces to gold, sparking a memory in him like a struck match. These were the men that killed his father in front of him when he was just a little boy, the men that haunted his nightmares. These were the men that had taken the last oiece of his family and they had'nt even blinked an eye at the blood they had spilled, the blood of one of their own, no matter their past mistakes.

Pangborn was inches from Luke's face, a hateful gleam to his eyes. "Tell me, Lucian, how long as it been since we last crossed paths?"

"From the amount of grey in your ridiculously wispy mustache, I'd say to long," Luke replied.

He shouldn't have done that.

Pangborn back-handed Luke across his face, leaving a searing red mark like a burn in it's wake. A thin trickle of blood dripped from his already split lip.

Pangborn moved away to stare at the sunlight filtering in to the small room, leaving Blackwell towering over him.

Jace felt Clary go ridged all over, frozen by the sight of that red welt on Luke's cheek, going redder with each passing second. She turned to him, eyes wild and frantic, pleading.

"We have to help him, Jace," she mouthed, desperation drawn into every line of her face as if it were chalk.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, "How is putting yourself in the line of danger going to help him? I know you're upset and I know that you want to help him, but we can't just storm in their and expect everything to work out in the end. We need to think with our brains, not our hearts; we need a plan."

Clary looked him straight in the eyes when she replied, "He's all the family I had left. What would you do if it was someone you cared about?" she hissed at him.

"Lucky for me, all my family are dead," he said, and didn't have to motion for her to be quiet as he turned his attention back to the conversation.

"You're an intelligent man, Lucian; you have all these books," began Pangborn, striding across the room, scarlet robes fluttering around him like the feathers on a bird, "so you must know why we are here, and who sent us."

Luke grinned, oblivious to the dried blood that stained his lips. "If you're looking for a book, gentelmen, then there is no need for this. My store caters to all, including monsters like yourselves."

Now it was Blackwell's turn to grin. "I think you will find, Graymark, that the only monster in this room is you. At least we are still human."

"At least I still have a soul," Luke spat, droplets of blood smattering Blackwell's boots like droplets of scarlet rain.

"Enough!" roared Pangborn. "Enough of your games and your taunts. We all know that Jocelyn stole the Mortal Cup from Valentine during the Uprising, and we know that the two of you were ... _close._ Tell us were she hid it, and I won't give this disgusting abode another coat of paint."

Jace felt Clary bristle beside him, felt her hairs stand on end. He wanted to comfort her, reassure her, but Simon had already grabbed her hand, glasses falling down his nose, making his eyes look beady and small like a rats. Jace cursed himself.

Silence stretched out between the three men, long and thin like a too-tight rubber band. Soon enough, it would snap.

"There are other ways of making you talk. For example, Blackwell happened to notice that there was a girl's room upstairs with pictures of Jocelyn. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?" Pangborn mocked .

Jace whent very, very still. The blood pumping in his veins became all too loud, the rapid thump of his heart as it clenched painfully in his chest.

Luke said nothing.

"We know who she is, Graymark: we know she is Jocelyn's daughter. Tell us where the cup is, and Valentine may just let her live."

"Since when has Valentine ever shown mercy? He didn't when he killed Jocelyn. He didn't when he killed innocent Downworlders and Shadowhunters. I don't know where the cup is, and you can do all you want with Jocelyn's daughter. She was her daughter, not mine. I'd suggest asking her about the Cup. Now please, I've told you what I know. Can you do me the curtesy and leave?" Luke asked.

The two made for the door. At the last moment, Pangborn turned in the doorway, eyes glazed over with an amalgamation of venom and steel. "We may be going now, Lucian, but to keep in mind that Valentine will not stop until he has what Jocelyn stole from him, until he has eradicated every infernal creature from this Earth, including you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," replied Luke. "Oh, there's one more thing."

Pangborn raised an eyebrow.

"Wipe your feet on the mat on your way out."


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: You may want to read the previous chapter that I recently updated before you read this.

Clary's heart was pounding so hard in her chest she thought that the whole world could have heard it if they listened. Everything seemed to freeze, as if suspended in time, and she was finding it difficult to get air into her lungs.

Luke didn't care.

The only father she had ever known, the man who has told her stories before she when to sleep every night when she was little, the man that that had been there for every birthday, every scraped knee. The man that had stood there smiling while she told him about her day, the man who kept every award she got. Luke was the person that had stood next to her at her mother's funeral, her small hand swallowed up by his larger one. He had wiped away the tears that had poured out of her when he told her that her mother was gone, and never coming back. How he could he talk about her as if she was nothing, as if all this time all he had ever said and done had been a carefully crafted lie? How?

Before she knew it, Clary was scrambling over the screen, not caring as it crashed to the ground. She didn't turn as Jace called her name, or Simon; all she could think about was how Luke had betrayed her and how she was now truly alone.

In a few seconds Clary was in the hallway, walking into the room where Luke still sat, chained like an animal. Pure and utter betrayal coursing through her, Clary thought about hitting Luke in the face. She had never been a violent person, but something in her burned to make him feel the pain he had just put her through. But Clary had suffered enough, and she didn't need the later gulit she would feel over the act weighing on her concious. Instead she crumbled before him like a piece of ancient pottery, knees banging painfully against the wood. Looking up into his blue eyes, she asked the only question that would ever matter to her, "Did you ever love me?"

Luke hated seeing her so broken. He hated seeing the hurt in her eyes, the betrayal. He had put that there. But he loved her more than he loved himself, and he could live out the rest of his life being at peace with the fact that she hated him as long as she was safe.

"Clary, there are things you don't understand," Luke began, desperate to not answer that question and melt what little resolve he posseseed.

"Did you ever love me?" Clary asked again.

Luke sighed. "You know the answer to that."

"Do I?" she questioned. "How can I believe anything you said after you just told those two guys that you didn't care about me? If you didn't care about me, if you didn't love me, then why have you stayed since Mom died? Did you stay because of the Cup, the Cup that my mother died over?"

Luke could see how hard Clary was trying not to cry. It broke off another piece of his heart.

"I don't care about the Cup," Luke replied truthfully.

"And we're supposed to take your word on that?" a male voice asked from behind him. A Shadowhunter with blond hair was standing in front of him, an arrogant smile plastered on his face, but there was true hurt in his eyes. Not regarding himself, but for Clary. At least she had someone who cared about her, someone who could protect her.

"I don't care about the Cup," Luke repeated.

Jace just shook his head and began undoing the chains that bound him to the chair. They fell away with a clank of metal. Rubbing his sore wrists, Luke said, "Thank you."

The boy smiled, a sad and lonely smile. "I didn't do it for you. Now, tell us what you know about the Cup and where Jocelyn might have hidden it."

Luke stood, crossing to the window and gently peeling back the curtains, letting needed light into the room. "Valentine was not always like this. When we were younger, he did not have such darkness in him. When we were at school is father was killed by a Downworlders, a werewolf, and it changed Valentine and his perception of the world. He became convinced that all creatures that had even a drop of demon blood did not deserve to share the Earth with humans; he wanted the Cup so that he could create more Shadowhunters that he could use to bring about his plan of total annialation of the Downworld. Of course, Jocelyn wouldn't stand for it. During the Uprising, she stole the Cup from Valentine and fled. No one knows where it is, not even me."

Luke sighed, running a hand through his hair. He spotted his glasses on top of a stack of books. Putting them on, Luke turned and saw the confusion on her face.

"What was the Uprising?" she asked.

"It was a battle in Alicante, the glass city of Idris. It happened during the signing of the Accords and many Shadowhunters died. It was a dark day in our history, one we'd rather forget," the boy told her before Luke could.

"It's getting late, you should leave," said Luke.

"Leave?" another male voice asked, this one instantly recognizable.

"Simon? You bought Simon into this?"

"Ilike to think that I more volunteered myself without anyone else knowing," Simon said with a grin.

"You need to leave," Luke said again, "Valentine's men could come back."

"Why do you care what happens to me?" Clary spat.

That stung more than anything else ever would. "When you're older Clary, you'll realize just how much we did for you. Now please, go, and don't come back."


	20. Chapter 20

A heart is like a star: once it collapses, no shred of life will ever be recovered. As Clary looked at Luke as if he was a stranger, Simon couldn't help but draw parallels. He felt guilty for it instantly, knowing he should be standing next to her, there for her, comforting her in a way no one else could. Instead, Simon just watched as Clary's world imploded for the second time.

Somehow Clary was able to leave Luke behind and not she'd a single tear. Jace didn't say anything to her as she closed the door behind them, walked over to the sidewalk and crumpled in a miserably lifeless heap. Jace sat next to her- graceful as always- leaving a few inches between them.

"What happened wasn't your fault Clary; you have nothing to be sorry for," Jace murmured next to her.

"Sorry? I don't feel sorry?" Clary exploded. "I feel hurt and betrayed, I feel stupid for ever thinking that he cared about me. Sorry does not begin to cover it. You don't even know what I'm going through, what I'm feeling! You don't even know me!"

Jace rubbed the spot were his perfectly blonde eyebrows connected to his nose. Stupid face, stupid Jace. "I may have only known you for a little while, but I know who you are Clary. You are the person that can handle anything, you are the person that will get through this. You are the person that will find the answers, find out the truth, and I will be there, waiting to make sure you're safe. Because that is who i am: a Shadowhunters, and one that helps those in need, even if they can't see it."

"You paint me so heroically," Clary sighed.

"If I give you too much independence, you'll ditch me and the nerd will be in charge of your safety. That prospect deeply disturbs me," Jace said.

Clary punched him lightly on the arm. "Hey! Simon is incredibly smart and knows how to hold a sword."

"Yeah, a digital one."

"Were you talking about me? If so, whatever Clary said was completely accurate and whatever you said was completely stupid," Simon replied defensively, gesturing to Jace as he remarked on who was more stupid in this situation.

Both of them ignored him.

"What's our next move?" Clary asked, standing up from the sidewalk and brushing the dust from her jeans.

"First, we go back to the Institute," Jace said, getting obvious delight in taking charge of the situation. "Second, we get you some food. You haven't eaten since you woke up and that can't be good for one so small. Then we reconvene with everyone else and tell them what we've learnt." Jace made a grab for her arm but Clary stepped back out of his reach.

"We can't leave Simon here, alone, all by himself. What if those men come back?" Clary protested.

"Sure we can. All we do is take steps in the general opposite direction and continue in such a fashion until my brain recovers from so much nerd and poor fashion sense combined in a short sighted being."

"Jace, this is serious."

Jace dropped his trademark grin. "You're right, but the Clave do not permit mundanes to get involved in Shadowhunter business; they're not even allowed in the Institute."

"Can't you make an acception? If I'm involved, then Simon is too," Clary pleaded.

Jace let out a heavy breath through his nose. "Come on, mundie, the grown-ups have work to do." Jace had begun walking but spun and stared Simon in the face, eyes blank and face expressionless. "If you make on nerd joke, or annoy me in any way, I don't care what the Clave say, I will cut you into tiny pieces and feed them to your cat. Understood?"

Without waiting for a response, Jace began heading for the subway.

As Simon walked past, Clary grabbed Simon's arm and said, "Please don't tell Jace that you actually have a cat."

Since Clary had been unconscious when Jace had first bought her to the Institute, andahad beenbto occupiedowhen they whent tothr mom's gallery, Clary had no idea what the exterior of the building looked like. She was, however, not expecting an empty space.

"Jace, there's nothing her," Clary said.

"Yeah, apart from garbage, rats, and uh ... more garbage," Simon concurred.

"Shadowhunters and Downworlders use glamours to hide from mundanes, like I said. If you look hard enough, you'll find the truth is standing right in front of your face."

Jace waited patiently beside her as, piece by piece, Clary pulled back the glamour and saw the New York Institute underneath. It was breathtaking.

"I still can't see anything," Simon said.

"Try harder; I don't want to have to leave you here," Jace replied sarcastically.

Simon's eyes bugged out of his head. He whistled. "It's still a dump."

Clary followed Jace as he unlocked the door and whent inside.


	21. Chapter 21

"All day! You're gone all day, you don't phone, you don't let me know if you're alive or dead, and then, _when_ you finally decide to grace us with your presence, you come back with that girl and _another mundie_!" Isabelle exclaimed, slamming cupboards and draws for emphasis as she stood in the kitchen, the stove bubbling away.

"First, my phone broke, I think Clary sat on it. Second, I was a little busy being a _Shadowhunter_ and doing _Shadowhunterly_ things, third, Clary isn't a mundane, and fourth ... what on earth is that you are cooking? Because I promise you, I will not ingest it, no matter how much I love you," Jace said, rummaging in the fridge for something he could deem edible.

"Why didn't you bring Alec with you? He's your _parabati_?" Isabelle asked him, turning away to stir the pot on the stove.

Jace froze, not knowing what to say.

"Since I only just discovered that a supernatural world resided beneath my own, would one of you be so kind as to explain what a _parabati_ is, and why that matters? " Clary asked.

Sometimes Jace forgot that Clary wasn't a Shadowhunter. It unnerved him.

Fortunately, Isabelle told her. "You're a mundane, so you have no idea what it's like to have a _parabati_ : there are no words for it in the English language. It's a bond, a friendship, that goes deeper than anything else. Your parabati is your partner, someone sworn to defend you nom what, to be by your side nomatter what, even in death. Which is why," she said, narrowing her eyes so that they were mere dark slits as she glared at him, whispering so that Clary couldn't hear"you should have taken Alec. You're not invincible, Jace, no matter how much you try to pretend you are. You don't have to prove yourself to anyone."

She cast a covert look at Clary, who was laughing at something Simon has said. In an effort to break the tention in the room, Have enveloped his sister in a one-armed hug and patted her head as if she was still twelve. To him, sometimes she still was.

"Izzie, you know I can take care of myself. But this is bigger than us, and I have to protect Clary. She's like me, Isabelle: her parents were killed, and she never knew why. I inadvertently dragged her into this collosal mess, and I need to be the one to keep her safe. That is our mandate, after all. Isn't it? To protect mundanes in need?" He was pleading with her and she knew it. Jace never asked for anything, not like this.

Isabelle sighed as she set the pot on the counter to let it cool. "While that is all very well and good, don't forget about the family you already have, who love you like blood. Now go get Hodge and leave the mundanei n here; I don't want to have to deal with getting reprimanded because of you being callous yet again. He also thinks I'm cute and appreciates my culinary skills, which is more than I can say for you."

Whilst Clary was off with the blonde idiot doing whatever they were doing, Simon sat with Isabelle, eating the condition she had made. She wasn't a great cook, he had to admit, but his culinary skills extended only to ordering pizza, so he couldn't judge.

"So, what's the deal with you and Clary?" Isabelle asked as she was trying the kitchen, her back to Simon.

"We've been best friends since practically the dawn of time, I can't even remember what life was like without her. After my dad died when I was really little, I only had Rebecca, my sister, to hang out with because our mom was always so busy trying to make ends meet, which wasn't her fault. Then I had Clary and she became my whole world." Simon blushed, realizing he was telling some beautiful stranger things he hadn't even said aloud.

"It must be nice," she said, turning now to fully face him, gorgeous even with a pair of golden yellow rubber gloves on and a dishcloth in her hand, "to have someone like that in your life who you know will always be there for you. Obviously, I have Alec and Jace and our younger brother Max, but he stays with our parents and they're not always here. Then there's Hodge, but he mainly just does his own thing. Since we can't go home and don't socialize usually with Downworlders, even less so with mundanes, I will admit it does get rather lonely."

Even though he knew he shouldn't really be asking, he just didn't want to see someone so sad, he asked "What sort of things do you like? You seem like a pop girl to me."

"We don't usually get a lot of time to relax. We learn and train until we become adults at eighteen, when we have our travel year and can take part in Council meetings. Alec's eighteen so he can go, but me and Jace aren't old enough yet. With those whole Valentine fiasco, there's bound to be a great deal of unrest. I probably shouldn't be telling you any of this; you're a mundane after all," Izzy said, turning away from him.

Some unnatural impulse overtook him and Simon grabbed her wrist, steering her so that she faced him. He brushed the hair out of her eyes that covered her face like a black lace veil. "Izzy, I'm glad you told me. Clary's my best friend and she's caught up in all of this and I want to help her, but I can't do that if I'm in the dark about everything. I'm blind enough as it is."

This elicited a smile from Isabelle, and Simon's heart lightened at the sound of it. She looked him in the eyes and said, "You know, for a mundane, you're pretty sweet."

"What can I say? Unlike Clary, I take my coffee _with_ sugar. Maybe it's that?"


End file.
